


Raven of the Winterlands

by indi_indecisive



Series: Nobody's Son [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Twenty Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor smiled widely, watching as his father commanded his horse to a stop, the woman to his left and a man on his right did the same. Admiration burned brightly behind Gregor’s gaze as he stared up at the hardened warriors he’d grown around. As a child, he had always wanted to ride with them, and this thought only served to fuel his dream of Knighthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gregor folded the letter using his index and thumb for what was exactly the tenth time since receiving it that morning; he swore he could still hear the cawing of the raven ringing in his ears, the gentle knock at his door as a knight in foreign armor finished the delivery. The parchment had been rough against his palms, though his skin had thickened with countless hours dedicated to tasks like smithing. Quickly, the letter had dulled by his constant touching. A sigh escaped his lips, quickening his steps as he descended the stairs of Ironrath and headed for the stables, stuffing the letter deep into his pockets.

  
There was no reason for him to go there, but it was an action out of habit developed as a child. When he had become distraught with emotions, stressed at an inability to immediately grasp something, or frightened by a skill he buried deep down, Gregor retreated to the stables. The smells were familiar; the stench of horse and fresh hay hit his nose, a wave of relief washing over him. He expected nothing less of the stables, but Gregor had been gone for several years.

  
Stepping into the stables, the horses whined at his presence, and Gregor spots a few new mares among the beasts. He mimicked their whines by creating a high-pitched whistle, his tongue pressed against his teeth. Hooves stamped against the ground, and he smiled.

  
“Shh, shh. Calm down now. Calm down.” Gregor hummed to the nearest horse.

  
Moving to the farthest stall in the stables, as he walked his hand trailed along the wooden posts that separated each horse. Stopping in front of a chestnut colored stallion, the creature hardly looked older than Gregor. “Hello, Maizen.” Cooing softly, fingers ran along the muzzle of his horse. “We won’t be going for a ride today. “  
Maizen nudged his hand, daring to nip at his fingers as if in protest to Gregor’s words. A high whine, Maizen stamped his right hoof stamping against the hay-covered ground.

  
“Alright, alright. Mayhaps we will later. Dorran and I will ride before dinner.” A final stroke of Maizen’s muzzle, Gregor turned away from the horse, and leaned against the stall door. Hot breath caressed his neck, Maizen nickering for attention loudly in his ear. He ignored the cry for attention, pulling free the letter from his pocket for the eleventh time. It felt like the hundredth time in the last hour as he unfolded the letter, his heart skipping several beats similar to the first time he had read it.

  
Green gaze traveled along the parchment, slow in reading, absorbing each and every word as if they would disappear the moment he finished reading. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, it was so overwhelming that his grip tightened and creased the letter. He feared he would crumple it.

‘You service as the squire to Lord Fastus Glovelyn of the Westerlands has been appropriate fulfilled. In the eyes of Lord Glovelyn, the young Gregor Forrester has shown outstanding examples of skill and comradery among the members of House Glovelyn, and the many visitors. Lord Fastus Glovelyn requests that he be present at your knighting ceremony and feast, and that invitation be given by the Lord Asher Forrester of House Forrester. Upon arrival, Lord Glovelyn requests that he speaks with you before the ceremony.’

It was a short letter, only a paragraph long, but the single paragraph meant the entire world to Gregor in that moment. He read it over and over, certain that even if the letter were to be burned or wettened, he could recite what was written by memory. There was not a more pleasing though to know that he was only several months, at the most, from properly claiming the title of a Knight.

  
As soon as his father returned home from his journey, Gregor would quickly confront him on sending a letter to Lord Glovelyn. Absorbed by his own excitement, Gregor had not heard the footsteps of another human entering the stables. Frankly, he was not aware of the others presence until a gooey wetness dripped down the back of his neck, a large portion of his hair matted to his skull. Maizen had licked him, Gregor rolling his eyes, tearing his gaze away from the letter ready to scold the horse.

“Dorran? When did you--?”

The younger, more sheepish Forrester, stiffened as his name was called. Hesitantly he met Gregor’s gaze but only held it for a brief moment, quickly looking down at his boots. Dorran had never been able to hold the gaze of another for longer than a second or two, regardless of whom they were. Relative or not, friend or foe.

Dorran had not been able to do many things, and for the first six years of his life, many had whispered that the boy was simple-minded-- stupid.

  
He had not spoken a single word for a extraordinary, worrying amount of time. Dorran simply did not speak, not even when his sister stole his treats right from his hand, or when the small folk boys pushed him to the ground. Rather, Dorran stayed completely silent. He was incredibly reserved, ghosting about Ironrath with little sound; he had gained a nickname among many, Ironrath’s Ghost. Not really creative.

  
“Am….Am I...bothering you, brother?” Dorran’s voice was soft, not speaking above a whisper.

  
Gregor gave the slightest of frowns, stuffing the letter into his pocket before bringing a hand up to smooth the patch of hair soaked with horse-spit. Dorran raised his gaze to watch, he was amused. He had always been amused by his brother.

  
“Not at all, Dorran. I was wondering if you’d care to go riding with me before dinner? Maizen has clearly grown rather tired of standing in the stables.” As if on cue, Maizen whinnied loudly, stamping his hooves.

  
Dorran turned away to face the horse he had stopped to visit. A beautiful sorrel colored mare, her name was Keris. He stood there unresponsive to the question, as if it had never been asked, but Gregor had long since grown used to this type of action from his brother. Many would assume Dorran was ignoring him. The truth was that he was thinking of a response, finding the words and the energy to speak them.

  
“I….Suppose so...she’s….hardly been ridden since…” Dorran stopped mid sentence, he had lost his words. To find them, he stared at the mare he’d been given. She needed a brushing. “...since the kitten incident.”

  
The kitten incident, as it had been named by Dorran himself, had happened when Gregor was away. Dorran had written him explaining what had happened. The youngest of the Forrester children had been ‘assaulted’ by the mare, then promptly assaulted her back. Rowan had been nibbled on by Keris, Dorran wrote, and the boy had panicked and screamed. In response, Raine had punched Keris’s hide. Keris had always been a skittish horse, but Dorran noted that she panicked each time the twins walked by. Dorran had been too nervous to tell the twins off for their actions. Brai had not been.

  
“I have rather good news to share during dinner, a ride before will be good for us both. Clearing our minds, relaxing our bodies.”

  
“What news is there?” Dorran asked him, casting a glance towards Gregor once more, before promptly looking back at Keris. It was not uncommon for Gregor to act as if everything that happened to him should be shared during meals, it was the dynamic of the family they had been raised in. Even as children, Dorran recalled Gregor declaring the most mundane things during dinner, and how he was greeted by cheers and grins by their father’s company. The...extended family. “Does it...involve...involve the letter?”

  
“Well, I suppose I can tell you, Dorran. It’s not like you’re going to spoil the news. You can hardly tell what you want from someone.” Gregor’s words are delivered in light jest towards his sibling, they were enough to get a scoff leave Dorran’s lips. It was an achievement that not many could say they acquired. Gregor was proud to have elicit more emotion from his brother. Moving across the stables, his hands reaching out and fingers curled around his brother’s skinny arm, giving a tug in order for them to be closer. Dorran did not resist the action. He could not deny his brother, even when he was not acting as if what he was going to say would be the secret to saving the world.

  
“You recall when I left to squire for Lord Glovelyn?” Asking, though he expected no answer from his brother. Gregor had only recently returned, missing his father only by a day. “I suppose you do. Anyways, I received a letter this morning!” Releasing his hold on Dorran, Gregor shoved a hand into his pocket and quickly pulled out the letter. “I thought he did not want me or that father had requested me back home. The latter quickly left my mind, considering he was gone when I got here. It turns out Lord Glovelyn believes I’ve completed by training early!”

  
There was no way to hide the pure delight in his voice as he pushed the letter into Dorran’s hands, just as there was no way to ignore it. Fidgeting as Dorran read it, a smile danced along his lips. Watching, Gregor thought he saw his brother frown, but the moment of a doubting expression passed by too quickly for it to be confirmed.

  
Dorran passed the letter back into Gregor’s hands. “That is...wonderful, brother.” While he sounded more tired than he did excited, it was enough to fuel Gregor’s pride. Another rare action from Dorran, he smiled. “...father...won’t be back...soon.”

  
“I’m quite aware of that fact, Dorran. It’s not like he will be gone longer than another week, a month at the most. If anything, he is giving me time to discover exactly what Lord Glovelyn wishes to speak to me about. Do you think that he wants me to serve as his knight?”

  
Watching as Dorran fidgeted at the question, long fingers playing with the egde of a thick tunic. He did not answer Gregor’s question, not exactly, pulling himself away from the situation just a bit. “...or marriage. His daughter...she fancies you..”

  
A scarlet hue dusted across Gregor’s face, flustered by the boldness of his brother’s words, he stuttered around his own. “How would you know, Dorran? You’ve never seen her. You’ve certainly never spoken to her.” While he did not mean to become as defensive as he was, unaware to Dorran, he had plucked a tender string from Gregor’s heart.

  
“If..If it’s not her that...fancies you, then...you fancy her.”

  
Gregor lightly shoved Dorran, shaking his head in silent protest. “If I did fancy her, would it be a problem? Wouldn’t it be nice to have another sister? For me to be married?”

  
Gregor’s questions are more like dagger’s to Dorran’s tongue, assaulting him at every turn. It frightened him, caused a rising pain in his chest and a sudden shortness of breath. Instead of responding he gave a shrug, turning away from Gregor and focusing back onto his horse. It was not uncommon for Gregor to play these games with him, he did it rather often when they exchanged letters, and it left Dorran gasping for breath and unable to pick up a quill. He knew that Gregor never meant to make him to feel like that, each taunt only serving as a light-hearted joke intending to confuse; because of it, Dorran never thought to bring it to light. He could deal with the pain, it only lasted a minute at most, though it was agonizing. Dorran was at the point where he could not open his mouth to answer even if he desired to, it was as if his mouth had been sewn shut, and to avoid the truth coming to light he busied himself with petting Keris’s muzzle.  
Gregor watched.

  
Time passed slowly between the two. Gregor watching Dorran groom his horse, paying attention to details that Gregor thought were unimportant. At one point he had offered to help, but Dorran had not even responded with a dip of his head, instead continuing on with grooming the mare.

  
Once again, Gregor noticed the similarities between Dorran and his horse. Sheepish in nature, rather quiet. His smile softened, and Gregor almost forgot that there was a world beside the stables, the soothing sound of a brush against a horse's hide, the smells of fresh hay, and the horses themselves. That was until a high-pitched yell assaulted his ears.

  
Dorran flinched, lips parted and a stray squeak escaped . He looked to Gregor, silently pleading that he would never mention the squeak and that he would go handle the screaming. The look was enough for Gregor to leave the stables.


	2. Chapter 2

Shivering against the cold air, Gregor scolded himself for forgetting to put on his furs. His mind had been elsewhere that morning, rolling each and every word as he searched for meaning behind them. Thankfully, Gregor did not need to travel far from the stables to find the source of the noise. Passing the tower that overlooked the area, a beautiful view at night to see the sky and tree tops against each other; soot black ringlets appeared just ahead of him. Tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth, Gregor tilted his head to the left in a curious amazement as to what he had stumbled upon.

A young dark-skinned boy lying flat on his stomach, tangled in a mess of ropes that would have confused even a knot-master as to where it ended and began, the boy’s right cheek resting against the mud and cool grey eyes staring up at a dark-skinned girl. Gregor could only have assumed that the rope had been stolen by the pair from storage, watching as the girl worked to set the boy free. The two were oblivious to anything but each other, and Gregor could not help but entertain intrusive thoughts he had often faced at their age, and still found creeping in at the darkest parts of night.

  
Their actions would have caused scorn, but all the children that came before them faced the same judgmental gaze that sought to destroy children with the ‘wrong’ blood. Bastard children. It was different for the twins, Gregor was not foolish enough to not know that his father was scrutinized by some and commended by others for their adoption. The young siblings hailed from far away lands, they harbored experiences that a child, or any man, should never have faced. Rowan, a crippled boy, and Raine, who was nothing like the Westerosi girls. Gregor had heard whispering that stated the twins served nothing more than a living trophy that their father decided to take back with him after another voyage to Essos. The members of House Forrester knew better than to listen to those rumors, Raine and Rowan were nothing like trophies. They were children, they were loved, they were his siblings.

  
Gregor, Dorran, and Brai shared the same sentiments. The twins were not outcast in the family, it would have been a hypocritical action. Their family was large, they had many aunts and uncles to make up for those that had died nearly two decades ago, or those that had left them. None of the others had the right to speak ill of the twins or to judge based on background. Bastard children.

  
“Did you get into the rope again, Raine? I can’t understand your obsession with the thing. It’s just thick twine.” While his words sounded incredibly criticizing, Gregor was being nothing but playful with his youngest sister; she could be worse than he. Raien paused in her work of desperately tugging at the rope, moments before Gregor entered the picture she’d been biting on it, and assumed herself moments away from freeing her twin.

  
At the sight of Gregor, however, she thought that Rowan would be fine against the mud for few more moments. “I was working on my knot tying and untying skills. They’re very important.” The twin’s accents had never left them despite everything, the accent flowing and liquidy. Her words prideful, holding a strong confidence in what she was doing. Of course, Raine fell silent due to a sharp pain against her calf, looking down and narrowing dark umber eyes at Rowan who had kicked her for attention.

  
“Stop it!” She yelled.

  
“Make me!” Rowan delivered another sharp kick against Raine’s calf, the action pulling and tightening the ropes around his chest. The boy was only troublesome in situations when his twin was involved. To say the least, Raine was the aggressive one, and Rowan was the passive aggressive one. Together they were quite a handful, despite all circumstance and trails.

  
Raine pulled tightly at the rope end in her hand, Rowan squirming around in an almost painful protest to the action. His face was shining with sweat, Gregor stepping back to watch the display for a few moments longer, then quickly stepping in. He did not want their father returning home to find a strangled set of twins, one of which with an exceptional amount of bruises on her calf.

  
“Hey! Hey, come on you two!” Gregor quickly pulled the rope end free from Raine’s hand, she swatted at him in her childish attempt to get it back. “You’re going to strangle him, Raine!” He snapped, voice booming with command.

  
Raine hardly cared, he wasn’t father. “I’m not going to strangle him, you are.” While she had given up retrieving the rope from Gregor, she had not given up in her goal of freeing Rowan personally. Falling to her knees, fingers hooked underneath the ropes binding her brother, tugging them impatiently.

  
For the moment, the two worked together. Gregor beginning to unwrap Rowan from the rather terrible, and dangerous binding that Raine had wrapped him in. Gregor tsked, scolding Raine, who seemed more than aware to what could have happened. Her head hung low as she pulled away the ropes, the twins stayed silent. Rowan would occasionally huff, sending glares to Raine even after the rope had been removed him his body. Gregor helped Rowan into a sitting position, rubbing small circles in his back before helping him up. Green eyes lingered on the awkward stump, his gaze pulled away by a dulled punch to his side.

  
“Raine?”

  
“Stop staring at it.” She demanded of him, dark umber eyes staring angrily skyward. Only she could stare at Rowan’s missing arm, though young she had heard plenty of mocking comments to her twin.

  
Gregor smiled sheepishly, “Sorry.” He did not admit it to the child, but it was truly strange to see someone as young as Rowan missing an arm. He expected to see that damage on a older, seasoned man. Anyone else but a child.

  
Rowan stayed silent, shifting from side to side while Raine took command in defending him. It was a common thing, Raine would talk and Rowan would only make snide comments. Except when it came to himself, Raine acted as if she knew what was best for him. She may have.

  
“You know he doesn’t like staring. We don’t stare at you, so don’t stare at him.”

  
“That’s a lie, you both stare at me.” Gregor cocked a brow, calling the girl out. They stared at everyone, though that wasn’t going to be his defense in why he should be allowed to stare at Rowan’s stump. He wasn’t going to stare anyways.

  
“That’s because you’re strange.” Raine stated matter-of-fact, turning dramatically on her heel, the of her tunic lifting at the spin. It was a signal that she was done with both the conversation and Gregor, bringing arms across her chest, expecting Rowan to turn with her. Rowan didn’t turn, rather he stared up at Gregor with cool grey eyes. In truth, he no longer minded his family staring at him, that was mostly because it was family and they defended him against the onslaught of glares and insults.

  
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I don’t mean to stare.” It just makes me sad, he wanted to add but bite down on his tongue.

  
Rowan fidgeted under the gaze of Gregor, turning back to look at his twin. She, too, looked back at him and frowned, impatiently waiting to head back inside and get away from her offender. “Can we have your dessert?” It sounded more of a demand from the boy than an actual question, and Gregor almost laughed at it. It was not uncommon for the twins to hold these things over for more sweets or a later bedtime, and Gregor gave a slight huff suddenly aware of the rope held tightly in his hand.

  
By the gods, he should put it up. He would not want the twins yelled at, though he doubted any in the House would yell.

  
“Fine, fine. You can have my desserts. Unless it’s lemon cakes tonight. I adore lemon cakes, just as much as I adore you two.” Gregor’s words were thick with sweet love for his siblings, and Raine snorted against it.

  
“Come on, Rowan. Let’s go inside, we’re late for our lessons.” She reached back for Rowan’s hand, the boy eagerly taking it. Unknown to most, Rowan fell quite a lot, he was getting better at it. “Let’s say that Gregor was holding us back, then he’ll get yelled at.”

  
Gregor rolled his eyes at their antics, giving the slightest shrug of his shoulders to suggest he did not care. “Run alone now, you two.” Giving them a little wave with the hand that did not hold the rope, he hoped the action did not strike Raine into punching him more. “Or I’m going to send a letter to father saying that you were the ones who ate the pies meant for my return. I was looking forward to those.”

  
Raine’s eyes widened, “You wouldn’t!” She screeched, tugging Rowan by the hand and quickly leading him back to Ironrath. She broke out into a sprint, and Gregor watched the two run off. Rowan almost fell, but Raine’s hand proved to keep him up and running. Gregor was happy to see them dedicated to their lessons, if he were them with father away he’d have skipped, and then the sudden reminder that he couldn’t wait until dinner. Even if he was giving up his sweets, regardless if it was going to be lemon cake that night.

  
Rope held tightly in his hand, Gregor wrapped it quickly, then made his way to the shed he knew the rope came from. With long, large strides, he dodged as many small folk as he did dogs. Roughly three dogs, pets he assumed, to his eyes they looked to well-kept to be strays. Lopping past the stables, he paused to see if Dorran was still hidden away, and not to his surprise, Dorran was. He was sharing what appeared to be an apple with Keris, and he wondered where Dorran had gotten the fruit, but he did not stop for the moment to question his brother. Dorran was done speaking. Continuing on to the shed, he stopped abruptly in front of the wooden door to inspect it. It was closed with a simple latch and lock, those where all that kept a thief from entering and stealing what was kept inside; one would have to be insane to steal.

  
A frown graced his lips, tugging downward as he examined the lock that was clearly unlocked. While it didn’t appear to have been broken, for there was not a scuff from a rock being bashed against it. Moments away from opening the shed to continue his investigation, as well as to put the rope back in its proper place, he paused at the sound of voices inside. Pressing his ear against the weather wooden door, he listened intently.

“What’s your name?” A rather collected tone of voice, albeit a demanding one. The father said her voice was similar that of an aunt they had never met, and Gregor recognized the voice as belonging to Brai. Who was she with?

  
“I’m not telling.” Another proud voice, that of a young man, rather gravelly.

  
“Don’t be a foolish boy. Tell me your name, you wouldn’t deny a Lady the knowledge of her friends name, would you?”

  
“I would deny her my name. Especially when she does not deserve it.”

Gregor cocked a brow, becoming all the more curious as he snooped, mostly interested if Brai was going to destroy the boy for his words. Fingers slid to the handle of the door, he was seconds away from opening the shed, ready to interrupt whatever was happening.

“Why are you being so foolish as to deny me your name? If you’re that foolish, then you’re no longer invited for dinner.”

  
“I did not know I was invi--”

  
“You were invited, now you’re not. You want to be foolish. Foolish boys don’t deserve dinner with a Lady.”

  
“I want to have dinner!”

  
“Then stop being foolish and tell me your name! You’ve denied a lady too long.” A dull, hollow thump followed her words. It sounded as if she had kicked a barrel, Gregor was not sure.

  
“My name is Davith!” The boy gave in to her demands, Gregor repressing a laugh as the name was revealed. Brai could wear anyone down.

The laugh grew, causing a numbing pain in his chest, and he could no longer hold it in. Lips parted, a hearty laugh left his throat, and because his laughter gave him away he opened the shed door to reveal himself. As the shed door swung open he caught the sight of Brai sitting on top of a barrel, neither seemed sure as to what exactly was contained in it. He watched as Brai hurriedly pushed a boy with red, coily hair to the ground. The boy could only be Davith, and he looked up at Gregor with large, fretful amber eyes set well within their sockets. Davith was clearly terrified to be caught, turning his head quickly from Brai to Gregor that both Forrester children feared his neck would snap, Davith’s mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

  
Brai smoothly slide off the barrel, taking extra care to step over Davith, her bright blue eyes staring up at Gregor with a lot less fear than Davith’s had. Rather, her eyes held an untamed amount of admiration and happiness for her brother. Gregor looked over her; noticing that her hair was a mess, the braid that she would never be seen without unbraided, the lock of hair hanging limply against the side of her face. As Gregor stared at her, she straightened her dress, a beautiful deep green piece, then tugged awkwardly at the scarf wrapped around her neck. Gregor caught the glimpse of her mulberry marks, they were like the interlocking branches of the ironwood trees; he wondered if they kept her head connected to her neck.

  
“Hello there, brother.” She dipped in greeting, a smile on her face. Blue eyes fell to Davith who had not gotten up, and she offered her hand to him. He hesitated, looking to Gregor as if seeking approval, then quickly took her hand and stood up. “Have you met my friend, brother? His name is Davith. His father is a minstrel and his mother is a cook in our kitchens. She makes the bread. He wants to be a minstrel as well, isn’t that right, Davith?”

  
Gregor looked from Davith to Brai, then to the rope held tightly in his hand. A slight hum left his lips as he thought over the situation. “May I ask why you two were hidden away in the shed?” Raising his gaze, he studied Davith. The boy seemed charming, a strong jawline, rather soft-looking. “You’re a good lad, are you not? I know my sister won’t tell me the entire truth.”

  
“It depends on what you ask, brother.” Brai interjected before Davith could speak, releasing the boy's hand. She huffed, looking away from both of them. “You never ask the right questions. IF you wanted to know what color the sky was, you’d ask me what color the ground was in comparison.”

  
Davith fidgeted awkwardly, looking from Gregor and Brai. He did not understand their chemistry, did not understand that this was the way they were; to him it seemed as if he was stuck in the midst of a fight. An outsider, ready to dodge fists. Gregor was not mad at Brai, no matter how often she pestered him with taunts like that. “Lord Gregor, we were just talking. Nothing more.”

  
“I assume you gave these ropes to Raine then?” Asking both of them, though Gregor’s gaze stayed on Davith. He held the rope out for the boy to see, as if the item would make the truth come quicker.

  
“No, not at all, brother.” Brai answered for Davith, turning back around and beginning to slowly push the red head toward the sheds exit. “Come on, Davith. Give me and my brother time to talk privately. You wouldn’t be rude as to listen to us, would you?” Brai kept her eyes on Gregor as she pushed Davith out of the shed, giving him a little wave and the command to wait for her.

  
Gregor stepped out of the way, moving further into the shed, putting away the rope as Davith wandered a few feet away to wait.

  
A moment of silence, Gregor chewed idly on the inner lining of his cheek, searching for the ropes perfect place. Arms wrapped around his waist, he stiffened with surprise, especially when a face buried itself against his back.

  
“Brai?”

  
“I missed you terribly.” Her words were muffled against his back, each breath warming the fabric. Interlocking her fingers, Gregor rested his hands on top of hers. They stood in silence for a long moment, the last time he had seen Brai she was nothing like a ‘Lady’.

  
“I missed you greatly. Did you listen to father while I was away?” He asked softly, running a thumb along her knuckles.

  
“I listened to him as well as you would have. If not better, considering I’m a Lady.” She closed her eyes, breathing in the strangely welcoming scent of her brother; stone chalk, sweet metals, nutmeg and cinnamon. Had he bathed recently? It did not matter-- Brai was glad that he had returned, Gregor was far more exciting than Dorran. She lifted her head to speak, but did not release Gregor just yet. “A Lady listens very well.”

  
“You’re hardly a Lady.”

  
She silenced him by lightly headbutting, pressing her forehead against his back. Gregor gave a small huff of protest. “I’m a Lady!”

  
“Alright, alright. You are a Lady. May I ask, do ladies keep secrets very well then?” Unclasping her hands, Brai reluctantly pulled herself off of him. She gave a sigh, her hands falling limply to her side, and when Gregor turned around she straightened up to her full height. It was not exactly much, Gregor towered over her by at least a solid foot, and Brai doubted that she would grow much taller.

  
As insulted by his remark, she snorted. “Ladies keep the best secrets.”

  
“Even if they’re temporary secrets?”

“Especially if they’re temporary secrets, brother.”

  
Shoving a hand into his pocket, once again he retrieved his newly favorite letter. Brai watched with wide, curious eyes, though she tried to act as if she was not in the slightest interested in what Gregor planned to show her. She was, in fact, very interested in the letter but refused to appear desperate. To her, a Lady should never appear too interested.

  
As Gregor began to unfold the letter, she quickly reached and snatched it; forget not appearing interested. “I can read it!” She snapped, and Gregor hesitantly released the letter into her hands.

  
Brai stared down at the letter for long moments, though there was truly not much to read on the parchment. As she finished, she folded the letter neatly, handing it back to Gregor in silence. As he shoved it into his pocket, he stared at her, waiting a response beyond the silence of their breathing or the Northern wind. Suddenly, Brai squealed in pure delight, wrapping her arms tightly around Gregor. A far more happier hug than before.

  
“You’re going to be a knight, Gregor!” She stamped her feet against the floor in a pure joyous mood, an action that she had done countless times as a child, and as she aged she tried desperately to break it. It never worked, for no matter how hard she tried when excited she stomped her feet as so. “My brother is going to be a Knight! Ser Gregor! What shall your knight name be?”

  
Gregor chuckled softly, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. It was refreshing, and nice to see a stronger reaction than the one he received from Dorran. Again his mind pulled to dinner, wondering if he’d get such strong reactions then was he was now. Gregor could not be sure how the twins would react, they could care greatly or they could ignore the news. Their interest in subjects varied greatly, only ever holding onto one thing long enough and committing to a subject when their father was around. Gregor still hoped that they would understand and appreciate this opportunity that he had.

  
“No, no. I haven’t at all.” He was not sure if he was allowed to, whether it would be his father or Lord Glovelyn giving his name, nor was he sure what knightly name he desired. All the names that did pop into his mind involved the word ‘good’. “I know, why don’t you help me? I’m certain that a Lady such as yourself has very good taste with names. Does she not?”

  
“She does. She has very good ideas for names. However, she requests that you carry her back to Ironrath.” Holding her arms open, she waited for Gregor to pick her up. Gregor raised a brow, “And Davith?” he asked, though he’s already picked her up. It was a very quick movement, sweeping her off her feet with ease, an action greatly exaggerated because he knew Brai would enjoy such a thing. “Davith can follow after us.” She waved her hand, uncaring of the boy.

  
Gregor chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You know, this is going to make it rather hard to close and lock the door.” As he turned sideways, slipping out of the shed, Brai leaned across and shut and locked it. Once she was done, she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled smugly. “Really?”

The remainder of the day passed by agonizingly slow for Gregor, who had to sit with the knowledge of his future knighthood, the letter kept close to his person and tucked away in his pocket. For the remaining Forrester children, lacking any such thoughts to keep them from enjoying their activities, the day passed by quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

One by one the children found their way into the large dining hall. Dorran was the first to enter, he was always the first out of the five to slip into the hall. He was the first to finish his meal, as well, it was rather easy to do so considering Dorran hardly ever talked.

Following him would be the twins, running into the dining hall as they purposely tried tripping each other, making it a race to enter their seats. They’d tumble into them, their seats tipping dangerously, moments away from falling over. However, as soon as they sat they settled down, far quicker than anyone would have given them credit for. Occasionally Rowan would tap Raine with his foot, and in protest Raine would lightly punch his thigh, but that was the most rowdy they would become during meals, even when their father was gone.

Deep in his thoughts, Gregor had lost track of time, and he had half expected for a Glovelyn servant to remind him that supper was approaching. He entered the dining hall with an overwhelming sense of confidence that could have only came from the first-born, falling dramatically into his seat beside Dorran.

“Where is Brai?” Raine piped up upon Gregor’s entrance, lazily swatting at the air in the direction of the empty chair Brai long since claimed as her own. She spoke of being a lady, but she’d fight for that chair.

“She invited that boy, Davith. I assume she’s gone off to get him from the kitchens.” Gregor answered her, though it was not uncommon for Brai to be late, and rather curious to find Raine questioning it now. Though, with what he had witnessed, Gregor assumed her lateness came from running off to find the red haired boy.

  
Dorran shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking over to Gregor. Is that wise, he wanted to ask the older, but Dorran did not have the strength to speak. He was more than thankful that Gregor could understand his silent pleas, almost always finding answers and words when Dorran could not get his tongue to waggle them.

  
“Don’t be worried, she can handle herself.” Gregor smiled at Dorran, attempting to reassure the worried boy. Dorran worried too much, it may have been cause for most of his Maester visits. “Even so--”

Gregor is interrupted by the sound of two sets of running, heavy feet. All eyes turned to the dining hall doors, all spotting Brai slipping in with a flushed face, holding hands with an equally flushed red-haired boy. The color of their cheeks and Davith’s hair were almost the same shade. “Don’t worry, we’re here! I will apologize on Davith’s behalf, he was being incredibly difficult.” Brai tugged Davith forward, pulling him towards her siblings.

Davith frowned, throwing his gaze back to the door. “It’s not my place to--”

“You’re my dinner guest, Davith. You wouldn’t be foolish again and deny a Lady a pleasant meal with her dinner guest, would you? Why must you be so foolish?”

  
“You say that I am foolish no matter what I do.”

“That’s because you are incredibly foolish!” Brai snapped back, forcibly leading Davith to the chair adjacent from her own, plopped to the right of Raine. She released his hand, touching his shoulder and pushing him back into the chair.

Davith sat, all too uncomfortable as he stared at Brai, the entire table aware of the tension in the moment. The twins offered him wide, viciously childish grins and Davith became all too ready for the eyes to leave him, hands balled into his lap, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm. “Should we tell them?”

“Hush!” Brai smacked his shoulder.

“Tell us what?” Gregor piped in, the briefest moment of dread gripping his heart at the idea of Brai spoiling his surprise. It wasn't an unreasonable thought, it did not truly matter who told as long as it was told.

“It’s nothing, Gregor!” Brai assured, though her voice was thick and heavy with a desperate plea for anyone not to question what Davith mentioned.

“It is something.” Davith countered, narrowing his gaze at Brai. He stared for a moment, as if to challenge her. “He’s going to find out anyways. Besides, my Lady,” Brai was cross with him, nose scrunched up as if she had tasted something sour, and Davith he turned to look at Gregor. “I was told to inform the Lord Gregor.”

Gregor leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin against the back of his hands. A soft chuckle left his lips at the glares that Brai delivered toward the boy. “My sister will not do anything in retaliation if you tell me, Davith. She may throw you out from dinner, though.”

“Or put spiders in his hair.” Brai huffed. Davith flinched, the slightest twitch from his hands of wanting to cover his hair.

Brai had given up on holding her secret, shoulder’s sagged in defeat. “If you must know, father will be coming home sooner than expected. Much sooner. I believe he’s going to arrive today in the middle of dinner. Davith and I,” She shot a glare to the aforementioned boy, who shrunk down into the chair, an impressive feat for a boy that large. “We were trying to stall until they arrived.”

“I...take...take it that his mother is...not one of our...our cooks then?” A rather long sentence for Dorran to speak, each word displayed a sense of strain on his body. Gregor cocked a brow, looking over to his brother. What exactly did he know? “His...father isn’t a...a minstrel either.” Dorran finished, leaning back into his chair, looking to Gregor with a soft smile along his lips. Dorran hoped that Gregor understood, he’d given him plenty of hints to the situation.

It seemed to work out, Gregor turning to look at Brai. “Brai?”

Brai turned herself away, she detested being ganged up on by her siblings, it was pure miracle that the twins did not interject with mocking, although light hearted, comments. By habit she brought a hand up to play with her braid, twirling the lock around her pointer finger. Gregor noted that in the time before dinner she had apparently rebraided it. “Not exactly, Dorran. Davith is a squire for Lord Caleman. He arrived this morning ahead of father’s company. Davith’s mother is a cook, however. I wasn’t really lying.” She pulled her braid, two gently tugs before tucking it neatly behind her ear. That was the most of an apology anyone at the table would be getting, blue gaze landed on Davith. “I only wanted to give Davith a nice meal before he went back.”

It was the most that she would admit to fancying the red haired squire boy. Gregor’s gaze fell to Davith, “Is this true?” He did not doubt his sister’s words, seemingly teasing the boy now more than actually questioning him.

“All of it is true, Lord Gregor.” Davith nodded, confirming all that Brai had said. He was unaware of Gregor’s teasing intentions, but it seemed the other occupants of the table were not as oblivious.

Gregor quickly rose from his chair, placing his hands on his hips. Standing on the tips of his toes, he stretched, a satisfied groan leaving his lips as tension left his legs. “Well then, if our father is going to be here soon, I suggest we all get the hall ready for more mouths.” Dipping his head in the direction of Raine and Rowan, the two basically fell out of the chairs in an attempt to stand quickly. A returning father likely meant gifts, a returning father definitely meant the return of Beskha. “Brai, why don’t you take Davith and tell the cooks to prepare for a feast?” Gregor fell easily into giving command, “I’m certain they can handle it.”

Brai gave a nod, Davith quickly rising from his seat. She offered her hand to the other, despite all the insult she had placed on him, and he begrudgingly took it. With a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, Brai lead them to the kitchens.

“Dorran, do go get some wine and ale. Father and his company will be thirsty.”


	4. Chapter 4

It took little less than three hours to completely prepare a ‘feast’ for the arrival of father and company, a large meal though they had only been gone for two weeks. The children were distracted by preparing, they had not noticed the extent of their own hunger, as they settled down it became painfully obvious to each, the loud rumbling of their stomach constant.

  
Gregor did not want to jinx their return, knuckles knocking against the wooden table. He knew if their father did not show then it would be a major disappointment among the family, a thin sheet of sadness would be draped across them all if they did not return. Truthfully, Gregor did not Brai to think that it would be her fault, that she was the one to cause such hypothetical disappointment among her siblings.

  
To consume time and distract from their hunger, everyone found something to occupy themselves with. Dorran had taken to sitting at the table, a book nestled in his lap. Occasionally he would make a pick at the food, but only when he believed that no one was focusing on him, and he picked tiny pieces that he assumed nobody would notice when the time came to actually eat.

  
Raine and Rowan had retreated underneath the same table where Dorran sat. Rowan resting his head in Raine’s lap, she played with the sooty black ringlets of his hair. They seemed moments away from falling asleep, Raine nodding, fingers stopping their stroking. Rowan’s low whine of disapproval jolting her awake each time.  
Brai and Davith had retreated to the nook on the other side of the fireplace. Through the crackling fire, Gregor could only see their legs. From what he saw, he could only conclude that Brai was ‘teaching’ Davith to dance. It was rather cute. Davith seemed all too reluctant to dance, Brai assured his worries by forcing him to continue on.

  
Gregor began humming softly, looking over the scenes in the dining hall. There had been many tragedies to have taken place within the walls, and an almost equal amount of victories. If only the walls could speak, to whisper to Gregor all that it had seen. While he knew many of the stories from his father’s past, there were still things that had been kept from him; all the things that Gregor had never witnessed, his heart yearned to know them all.

  
All his father’s doubts, his regrets, his pride. All these things often relayed in the stories he told, there was more to it. Gregor had not yet resigned himself to never knowing it all, he would continue waiting. Waiting while he worried for a father who was just as complex as the company he kept. “I’m going to wait by the front gates.” He announced. There was no acknowledgement of his decision making, a slight wave from Dorran as Gregor headed out.

  
His stomach grumbled, and he placed a hand against it to silence the rising growls. As he made his way to the front gates, his worry began rising once more.  
Why was his father returning home so soon?

  
Was he injured? Was any of the men and women, many of them like an extensive amount of aunts and uncles, injured? Should he retrieve the Maester before he reached the gates?

  
These were questions that entered his mind with rapid fire as he hurried down the steps. Not all of Gregor’s worries and fears vanished upon seeing the front gates, the horses, and the men and women entering the towering walls of Ironrath. Gregor quickly rushed forward, raising his hand in greeting. “Father! Welcome home!”  
Gregor smiled widely, watching as his father commanded his horse to a stop, the woman to his left and a man on his right did the same. Admiration burned brightly behind Gregor’s gaze as he stared up at the hardened warriors he’d grown around. As a child, he had always wanted to ride with them, and this thought only served to fuel his dream of Knighthood.

  
Asher Forrester’s hair is speckled with whites and greys. Nearly two decades had passed, but the charm had never left him; a genuine player of his emotions. No wonder he had as many children as he did, no wonder he had lovers. His beard was trimmed just as short as he had been when he was twenty years younger, and his body was littered with scars, many of which hidden away underneath clothing and armor. Asher and his companions had not aged well, and they had not aged horribly either. They had simply just aged, but time still had many years to tighten her grips on the men and women.

  
Asher offered a welcoming smile as he dismounted, quickly enveloping Gregor into a tight hug. “I should say welcome home to you! You’ve been gone longer than me.” As the two pulled apart, Asher grinned widely at his son. “I’m sorry I left before you returned, we were being rushed.”

  
“What brings you home so soon?” Gregor asked, brushing aside his father’s apology for leaving. It was not the first time, and it would certainly not be the last time his father vanished for an ‘adventure’. Gregor waved in Beskha’s direction, watching from the corner of his eye as she busied herself with gathering the horses and leading them to the stables. She did pause to acknowledge Gregor, the slightest dip of her head before she continued on.

  
“Would you believe me if I said that Beskha missed her nieces and nephews so much that she could not spend another moment away?” Asher responded with, placing a large hand against Gregor’s back, leading him towards the steps. As they walked, Asher cast his gaze backwards.

  
“I would say it was both of you.” Gregor chuckled.

  
“You’d be right.” Asher looked back to his eldest son, his smile faltering to a more sorrowed expression. “Truthfully, Gregor. We returned home on account of foul play. When we arrived, it took little less than a day for one of us to be poisoned.”

  
Panic gripped his heart, Gregor’s eyes widened, throwing his head back. Who? He seemed moments away from sprinting, but his father’s hand against his back kept him from doing so. “Who?”

  
“Henyna. She will pull through.” Asher held great faith in his company, especially Henyna. “She’s the toughest bloody bastard in the lot, excluding myself and Beskha. Song is taking her to Maester Ortengryn now.” Gregor had not noticed the cart before, likely where Henyna had lain during their return home, she must have been in extreme amounts of sick to be unable to ride. “She’s faced worse than poisoning.” Asher’s lips twitched to a frown, Gregor could only guess as to what his father truly thought. He seemed to say the words in an attempt to reassure himself.

  
“Do you remember Henyna?” It was a sudden question, both men taking two steps at a time up the stairs, entering Ironrath and escaping from the cold.

  
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  
Gregor hummed. It was Gregor’s turn to lead Asher, motioning with a bop of his head to the dining hall. “Come this way, father. We have a meal ready for you. You’ll do little good with an empty stomach, all you’d do is complain and get distracted when talking to Maester Ortengryn.” Gregor noticed a reluctance in Asher’s step as he followed after his son, leading the older into the dining hall.

  
As the doors open, chairs were pushed violently to the side, two small children darted out from underneath the table and headed straight for the arriving pair. They ran across the room, Asher quickly taking a knee and opening his arms wide to the oncoming twins, wrapping his arms tightly around them in a hug. “Raine, Rowan!” His chuckle was low and earthy, Rowan pressing his ear against Asher’s chest to hear the rumble of his joy. Asher was truly happy to see them. “Have you two been attending your lessons?”

  
“Of course, but today Gregor made us late!” Raine tattled on Gregor, turning her head and sticking her tongue out at him. “He bothered me and Rowan. We were putting away some ropes and he bothered us.”

  
Again Asher chuckled, releasing the twins from his hug “Did he really? Well, I’ll have a word with him.” Raising a hand, he ruffled their hair playfully. “Come on then, both of you get to the table. The lot of you must be starving.” Asher knew that he was, rising from his crouch as the twins scampered back to take their places at the table. All were eager to eat.

  
“Where is Brai?”

  
“I’m right here, father!” Brai called as she came out from the nook, tugging Davith behind her. “I have a dinner guest, father. Do you recognize him? You sent him ahead to tell us of your arrival.” She spoke proudly, as if Davith was a toy and not a man.

  
Davith gave slight nod, looking up at the man. “Hello again, Lord Forrester.”

  
Asher cocked a brow, waving off the boy’s greeting, a grin tugged at his face at the juicer parts of the conversation. “Your dinner guest? He must be rather special to be your dinner guest.” It was common for Asher to play along with Brai, he loved his daughter greatly. If she fancied the boy, then he would go along with her whims. Of course, Davith would have many things to fear if Brai ever ran to Asher with tears spilling from her eyes. His drive to protect had only grown, never diminished.

  
“He is a very special guest. A lady should only invite the best to meet her father!” Brai declared, tugging Davith away before Asher could scare him, guiding him to another seat. Asher watched the two saunter off, only pulling his gaze away at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  
Asher and Gregor turned around quickly to find Beskha approaching them. A foreign woman made sentinal by Asher’s command, an essential mother to the motherless children, though any of the Forrester pack would claim her as an aunt before a mother. Domestic life had never been her style, it had taken her some time to adjust, the same could be said for many of Asher’s company. Still they had done it, though Asher declared that it had not been just him to help their transition from ‘killing for fun’ to ‘kill to defend, but have fun’.

  
Seeing her, Asher’s face displayed his concern clearly. “Henyna?”

  
Beskha gave a slight nod to Gregor, it was accompanied by a smile as she moved to Asher’s side, the pair heading for the table. Gregor followed after them. They walked in a moment of silence, Beskha gave a half waving motion to the foods before them. She was eyeing a ham.

  
As if they had practiced it many times, the three had took a seat. Once sat, Beskha gave a slight kick at Asher’s leg underneath the table; Raien noticed, quickly mimicking her and kicking Rowan. “Don’t worry so much, little brother. Henyna’s been poisoned before. She’s just going to have the shi--” Beskha bit her tongue as Asher sent her a glare, giving the slightest nod in the direction of the twins. Her sentenced died, but the grin on her face suggested she knew that most at the table knew what Henyna would be experiencing.

  
“Father...did you...did you visit the Boles?” Dorran pipped in before the conversation grew loud, it was still a miracle he was heard above Raine and Rowan’s taunts towards each other. Of course, Asher seemed to always hear his children. Gregor recalled a moment of his past where he had locked himself away and cried into his pillow, Asher had slipped into the room and consoled his child. It was an interesting ability that Gregor had noticed about his father young.

  
Asher’s attention shifted to Dorran, pausing in his reach for an assortment of foods to put onto his plate. Beskha had already stolen almost half of a ham. “I did. I couldn’t not stop and say hello to an old friend.” A grin played on his lips, there was more that he could say about the Boles. Close friends, regardless of the name that Greta carried. Truthfully, a part of him thanked her for it, Asher was not certain that he could have become closer to Davyn without her absence. Davyn Bole, nearly two decades and the soft-spoken man tendered Asher’s heart and made his knees quiver. However, his children didn’t need to know that.

  
Brai’s attention was captured by Davith, she was completely unaware as to what was going on around her. The twins and Gregor had busied themselves with eating, though they did watch the others.

  
“Has...does he have…” Dorran faltered, shrinking back into his chair. Once again the words were gone, his face a ghastly white.

  
Asher’s eyes widened, making a move to rise from his seat. There was fear in his eyes for the boy, ready to run for the Maester. The action was only interrupted by another set of footsteps entering the hall. Head turned, a collective relief passed along the table when seeing that it was merely their Uncle. Yunxie Song, once called Bloodsong, though he was commonly referred to as Uncle Song among the children. He was a man who had taught Gregor to fight and continuously helped Dorran with his words. Moving to his seat, he passed by Asher’s chair, giving the Lord a light and almost playful shove back down to his seat.

  
Asher claimed Song to be a soft man, underneath it all.

  
Song took his seat besides Dorran, and for the moment Asher relaxed. Dorran relaxed as well, looking to the man as if he had just saved his life. To Dorran it felt like he had saved his life, the pain in his chest subsiding.

  
Beskha sat back in her seat, shoving a slice of ham into her mouth. Whilst they were relaxed, both Asher and Beskha were moments away from running to the Maester.

  
“Go on, Dorran.” Song gave a nod, picking up his personal fork, and making a stab for some ham before Beskha could eat it all. The children could not see it, but he sent a glare in Beskha’s direction. A challenge and demand that she did not eat all of it.

  
With Song by his side, it seemed that Dorran was able to find his words again. Wherever they had gone, he was happy to have them back. “Can...can we visit?” He fidgeted in his seat, side-eyeing Song as the elder began eating.

  
“I don’t see why not. I will need to send him a letter, though. As much as Davyn enjoys our company, I don’t think a surprise visit from all of us would go well.”

Asher leaned to the left, his gaze darting over to Gregor, cocking a brow. Gregor paused mid-bite, mimicking his father’s cocked brow.

  
Beskha snorted, “Something to say, Gregor?” She asked, pushing away a empty plate. She would eat more later, her eyes sliding over to Brai and Davith. Neither of them had eaten much, the two utterly distracted, and Beskha narrowed her gaze. She did not trust the boy, did not want him to be around a girl like Brai. There were many things she could do, but resigned herself to intimidating by staring.

  
Davith felt the eyes on him, clearing his throat awkwardly. He offered a piece of bread to Brai that he claimed he was unable to finish.

  
“Yes, well. I do have something to say, Auntie. Since it seems father will be writing letters tonight, I have one more that he needs to write for.” Gregor set his fork down then reached into his pocket, retrieving the letter. The parchment had gone from crisp to soft in little less than a day. Passing along the letter, excitement bubbled in his stomach, his leg shaking underneath the table. He heard nothing but the dull thud of his heel against the floor, Raine quickly shushed Gregor.

  
Asher grabbed the letter, opening it quickly. Eyes scanned the page, eyebrows raised in surprised, and a gasp left parted lips. The violent assault on ears from the his chair being pushed backwards, quickly moving to Gregor and wrapping his arms around the boy. He raised him from the chair, tightening his hold.

  
Gregor laughed, as did Asher. Asher squeezed him tightly, “By the Gods, Gregor! You should have told me the moment I arrived!” As Asher pulled back, he stared proudly at Gregor. “Let’s finished dinner. I expect to see you later tonight, helping me write those letters.”

Dinner passed by slowly, conversations bouncing back and forth, utter chaos for any outsider. They were a very loud bunch, all of the men and women who entered the dining hall and joined the conversation for the ‘feast’. Every new body made the conversation’s louder, the dynamic already intense. Oddly enough, no one’s words were lost in the sea of voices, thoughts and opinions picked up on by anyone, regardless if they had been previously in the conversation. Like most nights, it was filled with talking.

  
Raine and Rowan were the first to grow tired, their stomachs stuffed with rich food, the loud conversation doing nothing but upsetting them. They should have been put to bed long ago, but they had argued against sleep on account of the good news. Eventually a man rose to take action. With a furrowed, gloomy face, he was mostly bald except for the few wisps of limp black hair. The man easily picked up the twins, the children pressing themselves against his large chest. The man gave a nod in Asher’s direction, and Asher gave a nod in turn. “Thank you, Anno.” it is the most the man, Anno, gets as he took the pair to their room. He did not mind.  
Conversations continued, and the next pair to go where Brai and Davith. Brai rose from her chair, Davith following her quick enough that he almost fell face first onto the table. Bra moved around to the other side of the table, grabbing Davith’s hand, then tugged him out of the dining hall. It seemed no one noticed their leaving, until a screech of a chair being pushed back interrupted the conversation Song and Asher had found themselves in. Beskha had pushed herself up, quickly following after the pair. Asher watched her for a moment, then turned his head back to Song.

  
Then it was Dorran. He yawned, waving his hand in goodbye as he removed himself from the table. Making little noise, he left the dining hall quickly. While not entirely tried, the conversation had reached its peak, and Dorran had never enjoying sitting and listening.

  
Eventually conversations died down, men and women stuffed with food. Those conversations that had not died were carried off to be finished elsewhere.


	5. Chapter 5

Asher and Gregor eventually retreated to Asher’s room.

  
A desk pushed near a wall, Asher took a seat while Gregor stood idly by the desk. Gregor had been in his father’s room countless times, mostly as a child. Once, he recalled, he had wandered into the room and spilled ink all along the desk Asher currently at at. Ink got onto his hands, and Gregor wasted countless pages of parchment in a desperate attempt to clean and hide the spill. It had not worked as well as he thought it would have, instead the ink straining clothing and hands, a dead giveaway to the mess he had created. Asher had tsked, then taught Gregor a better way to clean the ink from the desk and from his hands. The memory brought a smile along Gregor’s face, watching as his father retrieved a few sheets of parchment, ink, and a quill.

  
Asher’s gaze shifted to Gregor, a grin on his lips. “Lord Glovelyn first, I take it?”

  
“Yes.” Gregor nodded. “I would like to send his invitation as soon as possible.”

  
Asher gave a nod, focusing his work on writing. Gregor leaned over just a tad, watching as his father began writing, chewing impatiently on his bottom lip. Asher paused in the middle of a word, glancing up at his son. He was amused, to say the least, watching as his son fidgeted with impatience. “Are you doubting my ability to write?”

  
“What? I-- No, father.” Gregor took a step away from the desk, raising his hands in submission. A slight dusting of pink was on his cheeks. “I only want to see that Lord Glovelyn’s invitation is extended to the rest of the Glovelyn family. I- I realize not that it would have been.” Gregor turned his head away, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. His heart had gotten the better of him, forgetting common sense in favor of fondness.

  
Asher chuckled. “I will be sure to remind Lord Glovelyn that his wife and daughter are both welcome to come.” Going back to writing, Asher hesitated. Two decades had passed, but Asher still found himself troubled when it came to writing something as simple as invitation. Granted, it was not as difficult as when he was sadly made Lord, but it was by no means second-nature to him. Most formal letters had too much of Asher’s voice in it.

  
House Glovelyn was a minor House tucked away with very little coin, and very little children. He had payed the House to take Gregor as a squire. Asher did not know how his voice would be taken, though he cared only for Gregor.

  
“Thank you, Father. I--” Gregor began to pace, the room becoming nothing but a blurred blob. He felt trapped, but relieved, and incredibly frightened. The invitation was finished, Gregor could have left.

  
Asher said nothing to Gregor as he moved on to writing his letter to Davyn Bole. The words flowed there, he did not have to think twice about how they would sound.  
“I can’t believe I am going to be a Knight. It feels more like a dream than my reality, father.” Gregor admitted, letting his gaze focus on Asher, who looked up from his writing to meet it. To Gregor, Asher was in focus, the rest of the room spun. “All day I have been fearing that this was just a dream. That in any moment I would wake up in that small room Lord Glovelyn provided me with, and I will be forced to fall back into the same routine. I do not-- do you think I am ready?”

  
“You are.” Asher assured, his smile soft.

  
“How can you be so sure, father? Am I truly good enough to be a Knight?”

  
Asher set his quill down, letting the ink on Davyn’s letter dry while his eldest claimed his attention. “There are plenty of assholes who hold the title of a Knight or an Elite and do not deserve it. You? You’re a Forrester, Gregor. There’s no bloody man better suited to be a Knight than you.”

  
“Father--”

  
“Do not worry, Gregor. You will make an excellent Knight. You will make all of us proud.”

  
“I hope so.”

  
“I know so.”


	6. Chapter 6

Brai Forrester

Dorran Forrester

Gregor Forrester

artwork done by [littlpeggy](http://littlpeggy.tumblr.com/)


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